


mind games

by JeanSouth



Category: Servamp (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: canon-divergent au: the Creator was Tsubaki's eve. When Mahiru initially tries to name Tsubaki and make him his Servamp, he succeeds and they must figure it out.





	

Tsubaki makes the mistake of not being quick enough, faced with his eldest brother and his disappointing lethargy, the start of his revenge, and the fact a boy is standing in the middle thwarting him.

But then he's not a boy standing in the middle, not really. He's standing in the middle with two staring eyes and a pulse Tsubaki can feel vividly, entirely, and he has a new name he'll never let any of them utter. It knocks him weak at the knees, the feeling of a foreign mind brushing up against his, but this unlike the first time (the only time, kept by creator and eve and lover), this is a tragedy. A disaster. He's imploding, starting at the core and dragging the rest in with it like a black hole.

"Should I feed him, too?" the boy is much too good at heart, stuck with a similar kind of abandoned melancholy Tsubaki really doesn't want to empathize with. To not be forgotten, this one reaches out and helps every vaguely sentient thing he can find. Tsubaki tries to destroy it.

From the corner of his eye, his eldest brother shrugs, dark chain floating back from his thick collar, all cold iron and something of the soul in that bond. His eldest brother had failed him before, but to drag him down into having an unknown eve? The small hope that his eldest brother was more than a monster willing to turn on his creator tastes like ashes on his tongue.

His mouth floods with blood before he can think of a quick-witted jeer, the tightness in the ethereal collar around his neck only obvious when it loosens after he drinks on instinct, teeth digging in to skin and his hands holding at the arm in front of him ravenous and digging deeper for more until brotherly hands hold at his hair and pull him back: they are casual, gentle, and could almost trick the blind eye that they are not covered in blood.

-

"I couldn't let you hurt my friends."

At least the boy - Tsubaki knows his name and refuses to use it - has the grace to not apologize for doing what he thought was correct. In the background, Sleepy Ash - he knows this one's new name, too, and will not use that either - purrs over some heating pad under a pile of blankets.

"You could," Tsubaki shrugs, and this is the name he has chosen for himself and will cling to viciously. "But you didn't want to."

There's a difference in that, and as much as he thought the words would sting, the boy nods after a moment, and leaves him to stew in his own juices on the couch. Fittingly, he makes stew, too. It has bulk vegetables, a mix of spices he throws in with a combination of his own taste buds and those of Sleepy Ash, and finally, cheaper cuts of meat. There's enough there for two days, probably enough to last him the week if he'd been on his own. It's the kind of huge pot that makes Tsubaki wonder how he manages to lift it.

"Taste this," the boy has a deep spoon with broth on it, rapidly cooling with still hot enough to give off steam. He ignores it, glancing only out of the corner of his eye. The boy opens his mouth. "Tsubaki."

It's a salty kind of broth, warmed through with hints of paprika and a healthy dose of coriander.

-

Tsubaki makes himself as small as possible, palm-sized and hidden in the pocket of the boy's sweatshirt like some kind of toy fox, and it's humiliating. Sleepy Ash hangs with his head out of the messenger bag, begging skritches and sweet praise from strangers. Is he more animal, or man? From his vantage point near the side of the pocket, Tsubaki sees the boy's hand rub the top of Sleepy Ash's head, then rest there.

-

Lust crashes over him like a freight train, reminiscent of blood forced down his throat that he's refused ever since. Sleepy Ash looks glistening and wet, droplets of shower water clinging to his body, nude and pale and lazy, edges where he'd expected sharp muscle from a compact killer instead soft from Mahiru's feeding.

A secondary wave of lust roils under the first, primary one. He glances, again, at downcast eyes and a very, very faint pink tinge of cheeks. Mahiru is a liar, too.

-

"Do you want him inside you?" Tsubaki asks. For the first time since the last time, he's touching Mahiru, hands on his shoulders and long fingers curling into the skin. There's a hint of glee trying to twitch under his dead heart. "Or do you want him inside you?"

Mahiru is red, red, red, but a lighter shade of red than blood, made pastel by skin and bone and things like blood vessels. His shoulders tense. His mind, where it brushes against Tsubaki's - he's always been better at this kind of thing, this touching of minds - turns like gears and gears and gears looking for a snag to hit. Eventually, he opens his mouth.

Tsubaki awaits a retort, something nasty from Mahiru, something hateful or ashamed or lashing out.

"Which one do _you_ want?" He shrugs Tsubaki's hands off his shoulders, and tries his best to dust the ceiling lamps.

-

Then, Mahiru frustrates him.

He never lashes out except in some righteous sort of way, scolding tone and all when Tsubaki jeers something unkind at Sleepy Ash, reminding him it's _unkind_ to do so. What cares a man like Tsubaki for kindness?

-

"I want him in me," Mahiru informs him. Sleepy Ash does what he does best in another room - sleep, wedged between the spare winter blankets in the bathroom closet, thick layers of cotton drowning away voices. "For the record. Since you asked. I thought about it."

The dryer sheet in Mahiru's hands rips under his fidgeting, his declaration clearly taking courage and something like willpower, battling past the ingrained shame of a society.

Begrudgingly, he has to respect honesty even if he doesn't aspire to it.

-

Tsubaki wakes to the sound of laboured, shorted-out breathing and the sound of skin on skin from the living room, and his first thought is: _brother?_

His second is: _no, brother is here, between the cushions belonging to the two of them that prefer a human shape._

His third, then, is: _how can I use this?_

-

"I can help you," his voice is raw from sleep still, lower than usual and with an edge no one has heard in decades. His hands are on Mahiru again, on his bare sides where his shirt is pushed up by Mahiru's own eager hands trying to tug and pinch at his nipples, then to his hipbones, then his inner thighs, lingering there.

"Please," Mahiru, honest Mahiru, groans out to him, hips bucking into his hands when Tsubaki finally takes hold of him, over a century of experience twisting at the head just so, squeezing at the base with just enough pressure to draw a frustrated hiss from Mahiru's throat. His left hand wanders while the right pumps with abandon to track spider-light touches over Mahiru's balls to his perineum and the excepted, usual moan when pressing there rubs mercilessly at his prostate.

"Brother is watching," Tsubaki murmurs when he's teased Mahiru to the edge and back down at least three times, Sleepy Ash in his peripheral vision, human-esque and leaning on the wall near the door, eyes fixed in that disinterested stare.

Mahiru comes with a yelp of surprise and a tension in his entire body when he catches sigh of Sleepy Ash, a choked-off _Kuro_ on his lips and in his throat, coming back to earth panting and raw and scrambling to stay upright when Tsubaki refuses to be leaned on.

-

Then, they disgust him.

Not sex - Tsubaki has nothing against carnal pleasure, and they're not doing it anyway - but Mahiru's lovestruck sighs and Kuro's more-frequent human form, still using Mahiru as a cushion and letting himself be petted like he's still an animal.

He really, really hates it, this unspoken value of each other.

"I suppose you really have to thank me," he crosses his arms, eyes rolling. He shoves away Mahiru's mind and his uncontrolled feelings of love fluttering at him. Tsubaki has no claim to it and doesn't want to feel it. "For getting you together."

"Oh, yeah," Mahiru agrees, and thwarts him again, not capitulating to the guilt that statement was meant to awaken for forgetting Tsubaki was here, too. Bonded, too, if reluctantly. "Thank you."

Mahiru smiles too much for Tsubaki's peace of mind.

-

"You can have his virginity," Kuro stretches like he's a cat, casual as you please, and manages to leave Tsubaki speechless. He continues equally blasé, annoying, eyes closed to enjoy the moonlight. Mahiru sleeps like the dead. "I'm not bothered by that kind of thing, but you'd probably like the symbolism or something."

He turns, curls on his side, and falls properly asleep. Tsubaki doesn't want Mahiru's virginity, but if it's being offered, he'll take it.

-

Tsubaki is not _unkind_ in this. Kuro sits with his back against the walls, Mahiru in his lap. For him, it displays a lot of effort to hold Mahiru's legs open, tilting him back far enough to properly display his hole to Tsubaki. He has a clear bulge in the cheap black jeans, his indifference practiced and untrue.

"Another one," he informs Mahiru, adding a third finger, clear lubricant dripping indulgently from his fingers, from Mahiru's ass, from his hole. If he's honest - a moment of honesty, in honour of being knuckle-deep in Mahiru - he's enjoying telling Mahiru everything his body does and seeing his face turn redder by the minute. "You're twitching, but you're really sucking my fingers in. You're extremely hard. _Look_ at this."

He reaches out, tugs Mahiru's cock forwards and lets go so it falls harshly back on his tummy with a wet noise.

"You're not the only one," he mock-comforts, hand sliding down to grip firmly at Kuro's crotch, drawing a distinctly cat-like hiss from him. "This dear brother of mine is, too."

-

Tsubaki teases him for a good hour, until Mahiru lets out a tear of frustration, until his hips move on their own, until he finally finds it in himself to come just from Tsubaki's fingers properly.

-

He lines himself up properly, presses against the slick hole, and holds on to Mahiru's legs where Kuro's hands hold him too, pushing in with a pleased noise, swallowed whole again by another's body for the first time in decades, the heat somehow familiar and soothing, warming his body starting at his cock.

Cautiously, he lets his mind's walls down and seeks out another, recoiling to find it entangled with Kuro's. He shouldn't let himself be vulnerable. Sex makes men stupid. Knowing, limpid eyes watch him from over Mahiru's shoulder. They seem to say: _you are not the only one that is adept at tangling himself into the feelings of others at will._

They beckon him forward with tendrils of feelings brushing up against him, the feelings coaxing, welcoming, coated in the honey-slick feeling of Mahiru's pleasure. Warring between want and - he will not admit it - fear, he goes slow and allows his feelings to submerge in theirs, sharing his own feeling of warm heat enveloping him perfectly.

"It's not fair -" he starts to Kuro, a sudden feeling spilling towards them that it's not fair Kuro is merely bystander, watcher, helper. Amusement trickles back to him, a smile on Mahiru's lips while his arms wrap around Tsubaki's neck and pull him closer to kiss and tempt to thrust properly.

"Kuro will have his turn."

Their kiss sparks something odd and foreign like joy from Mahiru, offered up to him like some nectar, so he does - loses himself in a rhythm of thrusts, unsure who he's kissing and whose hand he holds when his hips deny him control and do as nature intended, dragging moans from Mahiru's mouth, sometimes muffled by lips - his? Kuro's? - sometimes free and loud, no doubt bothering the neighbours.

It's over too quick and all at once, Kuro's fingers in his hair and a demand that they come, aimed at neither specifically but understood all the same to do as they're ordered, clutching at each other to try to find an anchor in a feeling of drifting.

-

He is sated when he lays there, or so he thinks, and suddenly Tsubaki is not when his legs are parted and a tongue lazily drifts over his hole, laps at it, the distinct vibration of a purr strong enough to send something nice through the feeling of his insides. Even in this, Kuro is lazy. Can Tsubaki hold this man responsible for the actions of a person he no longer is?

The soft tongue laps at him like a cat at milk, short, hard strokes, pressing closer and more firmly on every pass until fingers join and pry him open. Fingers comb through his hair, brushing it from his eyes so Mahiru can see him. He doesn't want to be seen, but this is something he has orchestrated and will face.

His reluctance drifts through the room like a cinnamon scent, and the tongue at his hole falters, then stops. He thinks it's over until he's rolled onto his back, his stomach and the faint line of hair leading to his navel showing dried evidence of Mahiru's pleasure, his cock half-hard from Kuro's affections. Next to him, Mahiru shifts until he can cradle Tsubaki's head in his lap.

"You wanted him as much as I did," Mahiru says, out loud, and reveals his secrets. Kuro smiles like he already knew before his eyes disappear behind a curtain of hair and he bends Tsubaki near in half, mouth more ravenous than before and fingers joining it, the lubricant Tsubaki left idly discarded put to good use on Kuro's warm fingers when they pry him open, first one finger, before he knows it four, sliding from him slowly and in him quickly until his body jerks at every simulated thrust and his breath catches in anticipation.

His eyes want to slide shut, but he also wants to watch the brother he's been searching for for longer than he can imagine between his legs, focused only on him. For a moment, he falters - focused on _them_. He finds he can't bring himself to be bitter about it when Mahiru's fingers draw senseless patterns on his collarbone, making a meandering path towards his stiff nipples. They are pinker than Kuro's or Mahiru's, standing out against his skin. They must seem tempting to tug at or lave a tongue over.

The thought slips from him when all four fingers leave at once, depriving him of a full feeling, of the budding comfort of being the one to envelop and give pleasurable heat.

Kuro looks to Mahiru for something like permission; he's not sure why they both trust that Mahiru will have the right answers. Maybe because he tries to always do good.

"Go on," Mahiru beckons, his hands waving to Tsubaki's widely spread legs, his hole that feels ready, and when those hands finish they stop resisting and the fingers circle around his nipples, scratching at them lightly before tugging, pinching, switching between quick and slow in no set pattern he can follow.

It almost distracts him until a cock is at his hole, pushing in with a slight burn and an initial cringe. He is no virgin, but there is a difference between a man who claims Tsubaki is made for him, and a man who he has sought out.

"In, already," he grits out, tired of thoughts, and crosses his legs behind Kuro's lower back to tug him closer quicker, giving himself up to the punishing rhythm Kuro sets for him. It feels like it might break him and it's exactly what he wants; to feel like Kuro wants him and will stop at nothing to be as deep inside of him as he can get, pounding as if he will never leave.

Mahiru leans down, steals an upside down kiss from him, and that really does it, doesn't it? It is a feeling of belonging, midway between eve and brother. It feels _good_.

He tries to mumble into the kiss he's going to come when Kuro wraps an insistent hand around him, pulling him to the brink of orgasm when his rhythm goes sporadic and harder still, dragging Tsubaki's eventual release out, spilling seed inside of him barely after Tsubaki has gone limp and loose, body sated in ways he had not expected he needed.

 


End file.
